Family
by kitty meooow
Summary: Years after their adventures together, Orphen, Majic and Cleo set out on another journey. They uncover the secrets of a mysterious ritual, breathing life into an ancient memory and unleashing a terrifying and brutal force that threatens to tear them a part. Relationships grow, love blossoms and a family is formed, but not without heartbreak and sacrifice. OXC
1. The rock, the hard place and Majic

Hello, this is my first fanfiction. I do not own Orphen in any way, shape or form. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1: The rock, the hard place and the squishy thing in between

They were trudging through the mud, their boots squelching with each step as the repugnant stench of sulphur lifted into the air. The first two moved in silence, while the third, who had great droplets of sweat dripping down the base of her loosely tied bun, continued to voice her distain and exasperation. "Orphen this; Majic that; why? Oh why?" were the short, huffed phrases the young man near the front of the troop heard every now and then. He refused to carry all the baggage this time, so perched on her small back was a fairly light knapsack, and to her side, was an even lighter satchel, which contained medical supplies for the wild and wily traveller. Yet she persisted in her half mumbled, but mostly grumbled tirade on everything and nothing in particular. In truth, his muscles were also feeling the burn of lactic acid, but he decided against vocalising his discomfort, for in the distance, about ten paces ahead was his former master. Even with the space between them, Majic could clearly see his fists clenched tightly: the muscles in his forearms stiff and coiled, ready to exert his fury on anyone remotely close enough to reach. This, of course, did not include Cleo. Partly because she was too far behind, but mostly because she was more trouble than she was worth. So here he was, caught between a rock and a hard place, walking through the marshes of an uncharted moor, way out of bounds and far beyond nowhere. Determining who was the rock and who was the hard place took up most of Majic's attention for the next hour.

"Well, if we go by characteristics, master would definitely be the rock... cold, heavy, hurts you when you kick it, but then again Cleo also fills those last two criteria, which –" suddenly, he felt a woosh of cool air and sensed an irregular amount of nauseating odour accompanied by a flurry of squishes.

"What the _hell_ did you just say?" came a cold whisper, caressing his right ear like a soft wintery breeze.

His eyes turned to saucers as his voice cracked into a dozen tonal variations, rendering him a 13 year old boy in the throes of puberty, once again.

"Well, you see Cleo," he started off with a squeak, which was especially evident as he said her name.

"I was, um... uhhhh. Trying.. y-y-yea, uh, t-trying to f-figure out," a combination of stuttered mid tones and high pitches.

"Whowastherockandwhowasthehardplacel," he exhaled in one great breath, his voice undulating uncontrollably with, what seemed, like every tone in creation.

She squinted her eyes, puzzled by his unusual choral display, giving Majic the very attractive and miraculous possibility that she might be too stupefied to respond. But, of course...

'"DID YOU JUST CALL ME FAT!?" nothing got past Cleo.

"WELL, ACTUALLY, I WAS JUST TRYINGTO FIGURE OUT WHO THE ROCK AND THE HARD PLACE WAS!" Majic yelled hysterically, overreacting to his panic and rigidly sticking to his story.

"SO, WHAT? I'M AS HEAVY AS A BOULDER? IS THAT IT!?" she bellowed, going for the jugular once again; knowingly fuelling her rage with the fire that had been burning over the past four hours.

"No! You're being too dramatic, Cleo," Majic pleaded, drawing out the 'E' in her name as he clenched his fists in anxiety. The look on her face told him he had said the wrong thing.

"How DARE you call me _dramatic_!" Majic tried to interject, but was trampled by her next barrage of statements and interrogations.

"It's because I'm a girl, isn't it? OH, OF COURSE, I CAN'T CONTROL MY FEELING!" She screamed into his face. "I'm just SOOOOOO overrun by my emotions, which are controlled by the tides and the moooooooon, RIGHT!?" as she said this, she whipped her hands into the air, in long, swooping motions making Majic regret his previous choice of words even more. "Oh, it's such a surprise that I'm not having my period right at this very moment. Why, oh why on Earth would I be SOOOO _dramatic_," she hissed "if it wasn't related to my _LADY BITS_?!" Majic's eyes widened further. Did she just say '_lady bits_'?

"I'LL TELL YOU WHY!" she raged, her face red with fury.

'Oh no. Please, please don't Cleo,' he prayed silently.

"HIM!" she pointed an accusing finger at the lanky figure off in the distance, who had only moments ago turned silently to witness Cleo's menstrual outburst.

"He, who decided to refuse the cart and horse and MAP that was so KINDLY offered! HE, who _chose_ to lead us into nowhere. HIM! YEEEAAAAHH YOU!" she pointed even harder, waving the offending finger in his general direction, knowing she had his attention. "I know why you're not talking! WE'RE LOST AREN'T WE?! I TOLD you we needed to stay on the road! I _TOLD_ YOU –" but she was cut off in mid sentence as the skin between her lips knitted together, almost silencing her completely.

Her muffled screams of outrage were directed at Orphen as he hastily trudged towards the two. Meanwhile, Majic was dancing around his distressed companion, panic stricken and torn between Cleo and his former master; his gaze repeatedly turning to meet the oncoming sorcerer.

Before Majic could perform an _experimental_ reversal spell, he was shoved out of the way. Orphen stood directly in front of Cleo, casting an ominous shadow over her form. "If you're good, I'll unzip that foul mouth of yours," he hissed though gritted teeth.

Cleo glared defiantly and made a low rumbling noise, signalling that he had over stepped his bounds.

"That means you stay quiet and keep walking until we've reached firm ground," his deep throaty growl overshadowed her previous response, letting slip the anger that he had been bottling ever since her conceited mutterings began.

Orphen was definitely loosing it. This Majic knew for sure, because every time he reached his breaking point, the muscles in his jaw would twitch and the long vein down the middle of his forehead would pop out and pulse with fury.

But, of course, he was talking to Cleo, and whether she knew how to read Orphen or not, she obviously didn't care because what she did next encompassed their entire relationship.

"Humpppff," was the muffled sound that Cleo made as she thrust her knee into Orphen's groin. His eyes bulged and he was immediately brought to his knees, crying out in strangled anguish as his breath was forced from his lungs.

Cleo, of course, a smart woman, realised that he would not be indisposed forever and immediately whipped around, deciding to jog as quickly as she could in their original direction; blazing a trail westward, as a plume of sulphur followed behind her.

Orphen, of course, being a highly talented sorcerer, bided his time; his breathing was harsh as he recovered, but he honed his rage to a sharpened point as he prepared to strike out at his prey. He focused his energy as he closed his eyes: imagining her clear, azure eyes widened with panic; her rapid breathing that had no option but to leave her nose as she ran; her golden hair slowly slipping from its tousled bun; and the sweat that was sliding down her neck to meet the damp cotton blue blouse she wore.

His eyes snapped open; the sun's setting rays highlighting the auburn flecks in his irises, turning them crimson.

"Heavenly winds, seek my prey. Arcane magic, take me there."

Within a fraction of a second, he had materialised in front of her, exactly aligned with her running form, which was unprepared for his. As a result, she was thrown back from the collision and while Orphen only received a mild blow, stumbling backward slightly, she was completely covered in mud, which was soaking through her jeans and pouring into her boots. Her powder blue blouse was now a slimy brownish green and there were splatters of mud dripping down the skin of her neck and jaw.

"EEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" came the shrill, piercing sound that spilt from her newly unknitted lips.

Regarding her vocal liberation as another part of the sorcerer's twisted game, her hand, which was currently submerged beneath the murky surface of the swamp, grabbed hold of whatever slimy, smelly material would fit in her palm. Then, with the force and fury that befitted her current situation, she hurled the glob into Orphen's face, which was smirking arrogantly.

Or at least, it was.

Majic, arriving only seconds after the first mud-ball was thrown, looked on as his former master wiped the slime from his mouth and spat out the excess. He quietly raised a black, gloved hand, his fingers tense and pointed to the orange sky. Muttering once again, the mud around them began to vibrate and rise slowly in round, shining spheres. About a dozen.

His face contorted into an evil, sadistic grin and with one sweeping motion of his arm, all 12 mud-balls hurtled their way toward Cleo, who was currently sitting stunned at the sight.

Whatever clean skin she had left, was now gone and out from the swamp raised a monstrous form. Her eyes peeled back, revealing those arctic orbs; determined and burning with blue fire.

With a warriors cry she charged, springing out and tackling Orphen into the mud. Majic on the other hand, who was relatively clean, wondered whether he should intervene or not. Cleo currently had Orphen pinned down and was attempting to submerge his head, in hopes of drowning him. Majic sighed, knew he was going to regret this, but decided it was for the best. He grabbed Cleo by the shoulders and tried to pull her back. When it came to Cleo, though, looks were deceptive. She was as strong and ferocious as a lion. She spun, grabbed Majic and slammed him into the mud bed, effectively soaking all their wares.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU STUPID BRAT?!"

"SHUT UP!" she turned her attention back to Orphen, her hands grasping for his neck. This time he was ready and seized her wrists, brining her towards him roughly.

"You massive fool! Now all of our things are wet!" he hissed in her ear, a little too close for comfort. She began to tug backwards, trying to release herself from his steel grip.

"Not to mention me..." whispered Majic, barely audible and completely miserable "... I was only trying to –"

"SHUT UP!" they yelled in union.

He sighed, thinking if one of them was the rock and the other was a hard place, just who the hell was he?

**End of chapter. PLEASE COMMENT! :D**


	2. Just who the hell was this?

CHAPTER 2: Just who the hell was this?

"Ooooooooiii!" came the distant call. "Oooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"

Orphen let go of Cleo, Cleo stopped struggling and Majic snapped out of his self-pitying, sulk-fest to look for the owner of the voice.

"Hey! Over here!" and surely to the left of them, tucked almost out of sight and set in the gloopy mud was what looked like a porch, jutting from a shabby shack. On top of that porch stood a man garbed in black rubber boots, beige, splotchy pants and a torn, white singlet. They must have missed his presence due to their very mature and civilised mud fight.

"What are you jokers doing?" He had a mop of mousy brown hair, which also peppered his jaw and chin in short stubble.

The trio got up, trying to 'dust' off what little mud they could, but only succeeding in smearing it further.

Majic spoke first, "We're trying to find Jose's road, or path, or way... we're not exactly sure what it's called, but we were tipped off that it was westward, near the Krathy Moors."

The man's face split into a huge grin when he heard this. "Well, you're certainly in luck boy. This happens to be Jose's house," his thumb jutted out as he indicated behind him.

With that said, the three set off in a sprint towards the nearly concealed shack, squelching and turning up mud in large splats as they went; as excited and relieved as newly adopted puppies.

"Wooohhh, woohh! You don't think you're coming into my house like that do you?" he looked at them as his face screwed up in disgust. "Little lady, the only thing unmuddied on you are your eyes," he said, giving her a once over from head to toe.

Cleo threw the scrutinizing gaze back at him, sizing up his lean figure, which told of hard labour and a self sustained life.

The man snorted in amusement. "Don't worry, darling. I'm not going to let you stay out here all night, nor your friends," he gave them a cursory look and returned back to her gaze, "I'll be back." And with that he left, rounding the side of his porch and disappearing out of sight.

Cleo heard another snort behind her, but this one vastly different from the Marsh Man's. Orphen's face contorted into a scowl and Cleo looked accusingly at him.

"This is all your fault," she hissed, keeping her voice low so that the stranger wouldn't overhear their 'family feud'. "If you hadn't thrown me into the mud!"

"Oh, don't make me laugh!' he interrupted scathingly, keeping a low tone and talking quickly. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you started blabbing like a complete moron or PERHAPS you should have watched where you were running!"

"Oooohhh! How dare you pretend it was my fault that I fell into the-" but she was cut off once again.

"Here we are!" the stranger announced loudly, perhaps more loudly than necessary so that they would cease their bickering.

She looked up with an expression of embarrassment only to see the man holding a hose. Her face changed immediately.

"YOU ARE NOT!" it was more of a command than a statement.

"If you want to come in, you need to at least be more human than mud," was his smirking reply. His green eyes twinkled with mischief and he began to slowly turn the silver nozzle to let the water.

"I don't need that," Orphen declared smugly as he squelched toward the porch.

'Hey, whoa! You just wait your turn! You're not –,' but he stopped almost immediately when he saw the mud lifting from Orphen in brown sheets, only to go sliding back into the swamp.

Orphen stood there, looking as pristine as a low life, dirty, cheating, mongrel of a sorcerer could. He smirked down at Cleo and Majic, turned to the Mash Man and said, "You can hose them down now.

The sun had just touched the earth when the hosing began and by the time the Marsh Man was happy with their appearance, dusk had almost turned to night. Cleo and Majic stood on the splintered porch shivering as they glared holes into the back of Orphen's head, which was currently resting on the arm of a couch he had sprawled out on.

"Aaaccchoo!" sneezed Cleo.

"AAAACCCHHOO!" agreed Majic.

"Here now," came a comforting voice as a warm towel was draped around Cleo's shoulders. She clasped her hand around her front to hold it firmly in place, still shivering.

"You can get changed in my room. I've laid out some clothes that might fit you..." he paused to think and corrected himself, "Mind you that they're mine, so really all I can say is that they might not fall off you," He smiled kindly and gently directed her through the door, pointing out a small room across from the sofa.

He handed Majic the other towel, soft and warm like the first, "Your clothes are in the bathroom. You're welcome to a bath after we've discussed your journey."

The two men were sitting across from one another deep in conversation as Cleo and Majic came in. Majic wore a loose t-shirt accompanied by long night pants, which were bunched tightly around his waist with draw strings, and Cleo donned a similarly loose shirt, which came to mid thigh, almost completely concealing what looked like boxer shorts. Orphen squinted an eye at this strange anomaly, unintentionally dragging his gaze across her exposed legs until they came to rest at the material that peeked from under the oversized top. She rolled her eyes at his antics and turned to thank the stranger for his clothes, only to remember that she didn't know his name.

He looked up at her curiously, as if waiting for her to say something. "Um, sorry," she started, "but we were never properly introduced." She stretched her arm out presenting her hand ,"My name is Cleo Everlasting, this is Majic Lyn and, of course, you've met the sorcerer," she quickly cast a nasty look to where her 'companion' was sitting before she grasped the Mash Man's hand and shook it.

"My name is Jon, Jon Jose," he said gripping her hand as a lazy smile of amusement spread out over his features.

"Ahem," Orphen voiced his impatience, apparently annoyed at this interruption. Cleo slipped her hand out of Jon's and went to sit next to Majic, as Orphen half-heartedly watched her movements.

In the light of the fireplace, her skin and hair seemed to glow a sunkissed gold. Her legs were strong and muscular under the silken expanse of her skin and the fine wisps of soft blond hair that spread sparsely on her lower legs were also illuminated. Cleo only shaved her legs if she went shopping, to formal events, swimming or on dates. She had, to this point, been using Orphen's razors (without his knowledge) when she went shopping.

She and Majic turned their attention to the two men who were once again engaged in conversation, their blue eyes turning molten in the flickering firelight.

"So, as I was saying: the journey is called Jose's way. And while it is a physical thing: trails, landmarks, charted and an uncharted locations, it's also a number of rituals, done at particular times during the alignment of particular starts. Requires no real magic from the 'ritualist', but does require items that draw magic. Very complicated stuff, even for a well trained sorcerer," Jon looked at Orphen very intently at those last words.

"No problem with that," Orpahn replied casually. "What I really need are those maps and journals your grandfather kept during his journey."

"I can't lend them to you. He was my grandfather. An incredible, resourceful and intelligent man. It's the only thing I have left of him, of my family, really," the other man replied firmly.

"No worries," Majic piped in a jolly tone. "Master and I know an excellent transference spell that will leave your grandfather's things virtually untouched."

Orphen turned and raised an eyebrow at is former apprentice, as if he had just blindly stated the obvious.

"But before we get into this, could you tell us how long this journey will take and when those _alignments_ will occur?" This time it was Cleo, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

"We can talk about that later, Cleo," Orphen said, his irritation showing as he was once again hindered from conversation.

"No, this is important," she stared at him dead in the eye. "Azalie has given me strict commands to journal this expedition and give word of any delays or events."

He sighed, already exhausted by her defence.

"Fine," he muttered. Ever since Cleo had become a researcher of archaic rituals and cultures for the Tower, and an ambassador for Non-Magic People in Magic Institutions (which Orphen believed was an unnecessary faculty bread from delusional ideas of harmony and inclusivity), she had made it a point to be a vigilant and unyielding disciple of the Tower. It turned out that she was as quick as lightening when it came to facts, figures, symbols, puzzles and methodical rituals, and with Azalie and Hartia resounding encouragement, her ego had been puffed enough to commit herself to four years of intense study and filed work. Though, sometimes Orphen wondered if that was the only reason she stayed at the Tower.

"You're in luck in that department, Cleo," Jon said, as if the tension in the air was just a summer's breeze. "Ophelia unites with Jorah in about one moon cycle and Isia, Damien, Roxus, Thyin and Ronah will lay in opposition, eastward: banded and blazing on the second night of that cycle. Their servants will present themselves meekly, positioned exactly as calculated by my grandfather," he was pleased to see that Cleo was even more rapt than before.

"When the stars are aligned with one another and the ritualist, and the rituals have been performed accurately, ledged goes," his voice dropped an octave as he moved closer,"the ritualist will be sucked into a dimension where time stands still, and where phantoms roam foggy plains and sup on the souls of the living," a smile split across his face to show a row of gleaming white teeth.

Cleo pulled away slightly, taken back by the intensity in his voice. His usually grassy, green eyes now took a hue of deep emerald, which swam with swirls of red and yellow as the fire blazed on. "Grandfather said that those phantoms could sustain their host's life for decades, leeching off them like parasites while their soul remained in limbo, lost between life and death."

"But not to worry," he leaned back on the sofa, the heavy air in the room immediately dissipating. "That's just something the old man made up with to scare me as a child. What I really believe to happen is that each soulstone, when positioned correctly will ignite, lighting a path or puzzle or _something_ that is normally invisible to the naked eye," he paused for a moment, thinking carefully. "Not exactly sure, but apart from finding the location, understanding the ritual and waiting for alignment, the only other thing you'll have to worry about is the weather. You won't be able to do anything if the sky is overcast."

When Jon finished, the trio let out a collective sigh, signalling a common thought that ran like a thread between them. This was going to be a lot harder than expected. And not only that, but they had one month to find the secret location, unlock the rituals and gather the necessary supplies. Not to mention that they would have to rely on pure luck for a crisp, cloudless sky.

"How often does this _alignment_ occur?"

"Lucky again, Cleo. It replays itself every year, like a memory."

"A memory?" questioned Majic.

"Yes. Of Ophelia's love for Jorah, her sisters betrayal for the crown and her imprisonment. I'm sure you know this," he looked directly at Orphen and Cleo, "but those alignments represents a legend told to have occurred thousands of years ago. Of a family torn apart by love, greed and jealousy."

After a few more words on artefacts, rituals and journals, Jon agreed to show Orphen the books come morning, but insisted that he needed rest till then.

When they were alone, sitting on the makeshift mattress Jon had kindly rolled out for them, Orphen said, staring pensively into the dying embers of the fireplace, "I don't trust any ritual that places weight on the imagined movements of stars. It takes millennia for starts to move even a fraction. This archaic concept of so called 'alignment' is based on the _visibility _of _planets_,_ not stars; _and no such celestial alignment, in the physical sense, in any shape or form, has ever occurred in documented history."

"I agree, this doesn't seem to make much sense and perhaps it's just a fanciful representation of a long lost ledged, but Jose had journals and documentation," replied Cleo.

"Yes, but most of which, except for a few scraps of information, have been hidden away for over five decades," countered Orphen.

"But now we're so close to finding the truth," Majic interjected. "We've been on the road for over two months now, what's one more?"

"Don't put too much faith in Jon," said the older sorcerer, dipping his head toward the now closed off room across from where they sat. "He seemed very reluctant when we asked to see those maps and journals."

"... really Orphen, he said he would show us in the morning," sighed Cleo exhaustedly. "I'm going to bed. Good night," and with that said, she climbed onto the sofa, pulled her sheet to her chin and snuggled into its warmth.

"Well, that's that then," Orphen yawned as he stretched out on the lumpy mattress. "Night Majic."

"Night Orphen."

**How do you like Jon? Orphen's a little jealous, if you ask me, but apart from getting a little creepy, he seems alright... right? RIGGGHHHTTT? Comment, please :D**


	3. Secrets in the dark

_This one is pretty short... sorry_

Chapter 3: Secrets in the dark...

It was still dark when Cleo was stirred from sleep. The cold air nipped her exposed legs causing gooseflesh to spread and hairs to stand on end; and the soft thudding noises coming from behind the closed door, from across the room, ignited both curiosity and apprehension. She sat up, the sheets sliding down her shoulders as she took in the darkness, only being able make out a few silhouettes on the floor and the door itself. Her breathing was quiet and careful as she tread stealthily across the room, in hopes of sneaking past her dozing companions: both of which were light sleepers.

When she reached the door, Cleo realised it had been slightly ajar. She slowly pushed it open, but as it was her luck, a high pitch sound rippled lightly into the night and she immediately paused to look back. After cursing herself for overlooking the door's decrepit and noisy state, Cleo let out a sigh of relief when there were no signs of movement behind her. Anxiously, she poked her head into the room, which now let out a dull yellow glow. Curiously enough, there was no Jon, but there was a tunnel, carved into the wall adjacent to his bed, lit by flickering candles. A tunnel that had been concealed by false wooden panels; something she clearly overlook when she was snooping around his room earlier in the evening.

Behind her, laying wake in the darkness and on his belly, with his eyes open and glaring, was Orphen. A wave of confusion and resentment, twisted painfully in the deep pit of his abdomen.

'What the hell did she think she was doing,' he wondered to himself, refusing to accept the situation as it seemed and ignoring the haunting pangs in his stomach. They way he looked at her, her especially; the way her hand lingered in his and slowly pulled away; the way she leaned toward him and that slow, irritating grin he showed in response. No. He refused to pay attention to those thoughts scratching in the back of his mind.

Rolling onto his back, he looked at the patched ceiling, shrouded in darkness: listening carefully as his insides curled.

Her bare foot met damp soil as she placed it gingerly at the entrance of the tunnel. Far off, she heard the crisp noise of dripping water, echoing off the twisting walls to meet her ears in an eerie and ill-timed orchestra. The candles were spread throughout the tunnel, swaying usually in the absence of breeze, warping the shadows and creating a deceptive and sinister atmosphere. Cleo swallowed her fear and stepped in, her golden hair falling behind her shoulders has she walked.

The further she got, the colder the air got, forcing her to wrap her arms around her small frame, perhaps more out of comfort than any other reason. She was nearing the end of the tunnel when she paused, wondering if she should turn back and tell Orphen. She pursued her lips: she had journeyed on her own on numerous occasions and she was more than capable of handling dangerous situations, but a nagging feeling in her stomach urged her to reconsider.

"Ttsss!" she spat, disgusted at her cowardice. "I can do this; I can do this," she repeated, but exactly what she was doing, she wasn't sure.

"That's it," grumbled Orphen as he pushed himself into sitting position.

"What's wrong?" mumbled Majic, half asleep.

"Something's off. It doesnt feel right," he said, more to himself than Majic. He hadn't heard a single sound from the room: no movement; no greeting; no rustling of sheets; nothing. The twisting in his stomach now worked its way up toward his chest: he was worried.

As Cleo walked on, closing in on the distant dripping, the tunnel walls began to widen. A few feet ahead of her, around a slight bend, she could see an opening into a small room fortified with wooden panelling. She slowly edged herself near the curve pressing her back firmly against the dirt wall, in order to remain as unseen as possible. The shadows cast on the floor, from the room, danced in the flickering candlelight, but told nothing out of the ordinary: no movements, no figures. She quickly ducked her head around to survey the room properly and repositioned herself around the curve, her back against the wall once more. A couple of book shelves; a few pages scattered across the floor; a writing desk with an unlit lamp; and an old sword.

"Haa.." she exhaled, both amused and relieved at the same time. What a fool she had been. This was probably Jon's study, where he kept his grandfather's secret journals and maps. He was probably down here searching for them in order to be prepared, come morning. Only just realising how tense she was, she relaxed her shoulders and unclenched her fists as she turned to enter the room. 'Really, it wasn't unheard of,' she reminded herself. Secret rooms and tunnels; the Everlasting manor had 6 which she had known of.

She walked into the middle of the study and made her way to the desk, in hopes of finding one of Jose's journals, but before she could reach her intended destination, a soft trickling noise made itself apparent, gently lessening into quickened drips as her steps slowed. This was the noise she had heard earlier on; a noise that was coming from behind another, slightly ajar door. She turned her head and then her body, a puzzled look coming over her features. She had no reason to be afraid. Jon had a right to have a secret study and sure, he might be angry at her for intruding, but if there was one thing she couldn't live with, it was not knowing.

She placed a hand on the wooden door and pushed it open.


	4. Secrets in the dark, part 2

_Sorry its taken so long! I've had a very busy week at work... I just started a contract! Anyway, I really, really appreciate those reviews and hope to see more of them in the future. _

Chapter 4: Secrets in the dark part 2

"EEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Cleo's piercing scream of terror was made a thousand times worse by the twisting walls of the tunnel and almost unbearable by the panic beating in Orphen's chest. Without another word, he and Majic sprinted down the candle lit passage, their bare feet slamming against the dampened earth as their legs pumped furiously.

"CLEO!" they both shouted when they reached the small study, but as soon as their feet touched the entrance, a white hot pain shot through their bodies, seizing their muscles and bringing them to the floor in a crumpled heap. It was a binding spell. Those seemingly harmless pieces of paper were infused with magic; they now crackled with electricity, rune symbols bleeding onto the surface of the paper as if inscribed with light, instead of ink.

"NO!" Cleo's strangled voice echoed, coming from inside the darkened room near the far corner of the study. There was a scuffling noise, cries amidst a struggle and all Majic and Orphen could do was watch and listen in horror.

Then a sudden crash of metal resounded from inside, and moments later Cleo burst from the darkness, covered in red, sticky blood. Panic stricken and wild she ran towards the old and rusty sword propped against the wall to her left. However, before she could reach what she so desperately sought, she was thrown onto the writing table; her body colliding so forcefully, it had skidded a meter and a half away from the sword, scattering shards of broken glass from the lamp it once held. She rolled off its wooden surface and landed on the floor with a heavy thump; the wind knocked out of her, rendering her immobile as slivers of glass dug into her back and legs. Jon advanced, his eyes gleaming demonically, like a man possessed.

"Don't you touch her!" Orphen roared from across the room, still unable to move.

"Now, now don't get jealous. Once I have her bound, you'll be the first one I deal with," Jon replied casually, as if the manic grin on his face was just another one of his lazy smiles. He shook the rope at Cleo and continued to walk towards her in a slow, easy pace. "You remind me so much of her. The hair..." he muttered. "The eyes.."

"Leave her alone!" screamed Majic as he and orhpan continued struggle against their invisible bonds, succeeding only in debilitating themselves further.

"Don't fret, young man. After your master, I'll have you as an appetiser. And then," he knelt down over Cleo and her hands immediately shot up to push him away, "I'll have my main course." He bared down on her, ignoring her feeble struggles, holding his face centimetres away from hers. "Imagine my luck," he whispered, more to Cleo than anyone else, "that I would come across a sorcerer as well as a new _brood sow_." His eyes twinkled as a flash of indignation flickered over Cleo's face. "I was getting rather sick of this body," he held her chin in his hand, tuning it this way and that, as if inspecting her, "as well as the others I have in there – completely and utterly barren," he finished, frowning in disappointment.

He brought the rope towards her as she scrambled frantically, kicking and flailing: her hands reaching out for something, anything. Jon looked down at her and laughed heartily, mocking her attempts to gain freedom. Suddenly, with reserved strength she thought had dissipated in their first struggle, Cleo's hand shot out and her blunt nails cut through the skin of his face. He hissed in pain, reeling back as she bucked and pushed away from him, turning sideways and reaching out with outstretched hands, grasping for hope. He pulled her back recovering within seconds, the open palm of his hand flashing out to strike her across her cheek. Pushing through the shock of his blow, Cleo lashed out again, brining a triangular shard of broken glass into the side of his exposed neck, seized only seconds before, in the heat of their struggle. This time he fell backward with a thud; writhing on the floor as bright red blood spluttered from his mouth.

"Ggaaaaahhh!" he gurgled, causing pink froth to spill over the sides of his lips.

Cleo pushed away, ignoring the glass slicing into her palms as she hoisted herself up onto shaky legs. She ran for the sword once again and grasped the hilt with both hands and spun to face him. Jon had managed to scramble to his knees, grinning from ear to ear as blood dribbled from between the gaps of his teeth.

"YOU CRULE HORROR! YOU'RE A _MONSTER!" _her voice bellowed with rage.

His only response was a hysterically belt of laughter that sent more crimson liquid splattering onto the dirt floor in front of him.

With that said she lifted the sword and swung with all the fury she could muster, letting out bone chilling cry of redemption. Perhaps it was the cold rage burning in her heart; perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through her veins; or her years of training at the Tower, but the old blade, a seemingly rusty scarp of metal, sliced perfectly through the skin of his neck: severing arteries, his spine and larynx, to meet the cold night air on the other side.

She sank to her knees still clutching the blade for support as his body and severed head fell backward in a dead thump, the noise echoing though the small room.

Orphen and Majic, who were watching in stunned silence, were immediately released from their snare, the binding charms around them turning blank and lifeless.

"Cleo!" Orphen's strained voice called urgently as he reached her. He knelt down in front of her and pulled her body into a bone crushing embrace; the sword forgotten and bloodied on the floor beside them.

She let out a strangled cry of relief as she tightly clutched the front of his shirt and pressed her face against his chest. Majic's gently placed his hand on her shoulder as he knelt to her level and she immediately shot an arm out to bring his body closer in a tight, familial embrace.

"Ahha-ha," she shuddered and began to slowly sob and laugh at the same time. "You know, you could have helped, right?" she looked up, still shaking with an awkward smile gracing her blood stained lips. She pulled back and sighed, looking down and then to the darkened doorway, her eyes misting over with a cold and unfamiliar expression.

"There's something you need to see," she whispered nodding her head to towards the other room.

_So much more to come, so keep tuned! _


	5. The journey continues

_**Here's a nice , long chapter. It's probably going to be a while until the next one.**_

**Chapter 5: The journey continues**

Orphen lay sprawled in his usual relaxed position: palms behind his head with fingers interlocked. He half listened to the swishing of water in the next room and thought back to the events that had occurred only a few nights ago. It was like Cleo hadn't even been fazed. Moments after discovering what truly lurked in the darkened room; after witnessing the horror of those half alive corpses labouring for breath in a feeble fight for life, she wrote to Azalie.

Gathering her evidence, she read maps and journals and looked at old photos, and before dawn she had demanded that Orphen send her letter with a small teleportation spell. This was something he was slightly reluctant to do, but did, nonetheless. In truth, Orphen had been proud of her resilience, but now worry began to bloom in his chest, growing larger as time passed. Not because of her pragmatic actions and calculative mind, which seemed so unlike Cleo, but because she had refused to voice too much of what she had felt. She refused to confide in him, in Majic and that was what concerned him most. Had he really missed out on so much when she was knee-deep in her studies? She was still Cleo, alright: loud, obnoxious, irritatingly confident, hard-willed and unrelenting, but now there were other aspects of her personality that were almost hidden from him. He supposed she was no longer the young, naive girl that used to follow him everywhere, and even though he admired her newfound independence, he secretly hoped that she wasn't growing out of him.

The lady in question was currently soaking in the bath with her eyes closed, the heat from the water causing vapour to hang in the air like mist. Those ragged breaths still haunted her; the darkness they lived in, the thin film-like skin that covered their fragile chests. Her eyes snapped open in irritation as she squeezed the sides of the porcelain bathtub. Any day now Azalie would send word, giving them more information on those poor creatures. She had a few ideas floating around in her mind: old family photographs, birth marks, tatters clothes strewn across that dirty dungeon, but there was still so much missing. _Brood sow_. That also haunted her, disgusted her. Who were those half alive women? Who were those dead boys in the corner? Some only infants. A tear trickled down her face and she hit the water furiously, sick of looking at her reflection and thinking what those women must have gone through.

"Cleo," came a deep voice followed by a few bisque knocks. It was Orphen.

She looked to the ceiling and sighed in frustration. "What?" she said, letting her irritation flare as she splashed water over her face to camouflage the tears.

He paused, "Is something wrong?" Apparently he heard the strain in her voice.

"Why on earth would something be wrong? Apart from having an annoying sorcerer interrupting my bath!" She snapped.

"Oh, really, I wonder, Cleo! Come out, we need to talk," he spoke in a no nonsense tone.

"No," she replied flatly.

"Oh, come on, Cleo! You've been in there for a half an hour, and don't act like you haven't been crying the whole time!" he barked out.

This certainly got her attention. She pushed herself out of the bathtub, the water streaming down her body as she wrapped a towel around herself.

She opened the door and glared at Orphen. "I'm fine," she spat though gritted teeth.

He strategically placed his hand on the door. "Someone who is _fine_ doesn't cry in the bath," he spat back looking down at her, seeing that she was wrapped in a big, fluffy towel.

He swallowed thickly, letting his eyes linger on the damp, slick skin of her neck and said, in in slight discomfort "I don't think it's a good idea for you to travel with us anymore. It's getting too dangerous."

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped, "How _dare_ you!" she belted and opened the door fully causing Orphen to stumble into the bathroom. Before he could regained his composure she quickly pushed him out.

"I don't need your _permission_ to be on this journey," she hissed and once he was beyond the threshold of the door, she slammed it in his face.

"I'm going to stick it out until I find out what's really going on!" her anger and frustration could be heard clearly in the next room. Orphen clenched his fist and bared his teeth, fuming, but said nothing. Instead he returned to his bed.

She turned to the sink, avoiding her reflection in the foggy mirror and grabbed Orphens razor. She needed some retail therapy.

A few moments later, Majic walked in glumly, tired from the day's work. He eyed Orphen who hadn't moved from his position when he last saw him and looked toward the bathroom, which was sealed tightly. Was Cleo still in there? That was almost forty minutes ago. His face screwed up in a rare expression of annoyance and he brusquely strode over to the bathroom door.

"Are you seriously still in there, Cleo? I've been out all day looking for old maps and I want a bath so –" he was cut off as Cleo came storming out, knocking him to the floor.

She walked to the front door and paused looking over her shoulder at Orphen and Majic as she grabbed her handbag. "I'm going shopping," and with that she left the room, her shoes clicking down the hallway as she went.

"W-what!" Orphen spluttered as he sat up suddenly. Majic had noticed that Orphen had gotten much more protective over Cleo over the past few days, not that he blamed him. Looking out the window, towards the setting sun, he didn't doubt that she would have the sorcerer stalking after her tonight.

* * *

Outside was a completely different world, and tonight Cleo planned to have as much fun as she could before news from Azalie arrived. However, even with the jovial celebrations of the town's people and the mercantile distractions, Cleo couldn't help but find irritation burning inside of her as Orphen half-heartedly concealed himself amidst the flowing crowd: brandishing the ridiculous scowl of a cranky child who had been up way past his bedtime. She stopped at a stall selling low quality jewellery and began to lightly trace the edges of a crudely cut pendant, her gentle manner grossly belying her current mood. Apparently, Orphen's idea of 'concealment' alternated between leaning against a stall post and walking behind her at a few meter's distance. Her eyebrow twitched as she let out a huffed sigh and made her way to the next stall, but before she could reach its gleaming contents she was stopped by an ear-splitting announcement.

"Oh, young Lady! Beauty such as yours should not be wasted on the likes of these tacky trinkets!" a few people turned around and the stall owner glared hotly.

'Oh great,' she thought. She had attracted a nomadic sales person; possibly the loudest one in the market.

She pursued her lips and looked up at the man, ready to give him a withering glare, but was astonished to see Hartia's kind face ginning down at her.

"W-what are you doing here?!" she said, her mouth agape and eyes widened.

"I'm here to lavish my lady, of course!" he continued, his foolish face splitting smile widening even further as he brought her body towards his with a swift tug of her hand.

"A-ha, yea. It's good to see you too, Hartia," Cleo said uneasily as he embraced her in an unusually intimate manner.

Behind her, few meters distance away, Orphen's schizophrenic attack did not go unnoticed by passersby. His face had contorted between an expression of surprise and pure disgust as Hartia flashed a mischievous grin in his direction, his chin resting casually atop the blond's head.

"I see you've got yourself a stalker," Hartia said as he turned her in his embrace to face the conflicted sorcerer, arms still lightly secure around her small frame.

Cleo took this opportunity to elbow the redhead in his gut and was immediately freed from his hold when he went to clutch the abused area.

"As gentile as ever, Cleo," he chuckled, his good nature unhindered by her aggressive display.

She glared in response, crossing her arms defensively.

Orphen, also glaring (having decided on a facial expression) was making his way towards the two.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he questioned, stopping within arms distance of Hartia, his arms also crossed.

"Oh, wow, this sure is a warm welcome," retorted Hartia, as a disheartened frown tugged at his lips showing the first signs of annoyance.

He sighed. "I'm here on business...mostly," he regained enough of his composure to sending a quick wink in Cleo's direction and she glowered in response. "I'm here to deliver Azalie's message and help with the decryption of those journals and maps."

"Majic's already found some helpful resources that we can use to cross reference," Orphen said, "and, anyway, why would Azalie need an oversized, redheaded crow to deliver a simple message." It sounded as though Orphen still hadn't forgiven Hartia's for his earlier display of affection.

Hartia sighed once more, this time longer and louder. "Don't act like you don't need help. Geez, if I didn't know any better, I would think you were –"but he was interrupted by a grating, semi screamed tantrum to his left.

"Are you serious!? I come out here for some relaxation and now I have TWO, goddamn, sorcerers spewing on about work!" She even stomped her feet. By this time a few people actually stopped to watch the show; some smiling in amusement, others thoroughly confused.

She propped her hands on her hips and turned to face them both, "I am not talking about maps, journals, rituals or ruins tonight. Tonight, I shop!" she turned to walk off, but was stopped by a firm hand on her wrist.

Orphen spun her around to face him, "I am tired of following you around," he said in a low hiss.

"No one asked you to, you stupid, half-baked magician!" she all but yelled, completely sick of the sorcerer's attitude. "I've only been out here for an hour or so!"

"Fine, you have two choices then! You can stay out here and shop, for a _little _while longer, or you can come back to the inn: either way, I'm coming with you," He still held her wrist, almost bruisingly.

She tugged her hand violently from his and he released her. "Fine," she pouted, rubbing her wrist as she stomped over to another stall without turning back.

"Wow, is it just me or are things getting worse between you two?" It really was more of a statement than a question.

"Shut-up," the other sorcerer replied snidely.

Hartia looked at Orphen for a few moments, one eyebrow raised in question. Orphen's eyebrow twitched slightly and he stared back, eyes as hard as stone. Hartia's eyebrow rose even further, eliciting a low growl from his old friend, and then both eyebrows shot up to his forehead in realisation.

"I knew it," he declared smugly.

"_What_?!" Orphen barked, loosing his patients.

Hartia smiled slowly and deliberately in response, keeping his silence.

"Gods Hartia! You are still as irritating as ever!"

"But I don't get you _going_ like she does, eh?" the redhead smirked slyly.

Orphen's hair fell onto his face, casting an ominous shadow over his eyes. His fists were clenched, "Drop it or I swear I'm going to blow you up."

"Fine, let's get down to business then," Hartia said begrudgingly and sighed for the third time that night.

His face took on a more serious expression as he began to speak once more. "Azalie and Lai have come to the same conclusion as Cleo. The figures in the photos seem to match the body count... and," he paused, his mouth twisting as if he had eaten a bug, "the remains of what were once human bodies. Also we've been able to identify the women through these photos and with Lai's abilities," he paused once more, taking his time to carefully construct his next sentence. "Lai was beyond disturbed by what he saw and felt, especially in response to the images of the old man; well, you know, captured in those photographs almost 54 years ago... I guess he would have been 27 then. Cleo mentioned that he looked exactly like Jon, not that we could identify him after the fiasco. His body turned to a state similar to those women, you know: sapped of life, drained and ashen." Orphen eyes widened in realisation and Hartia continued, watching Cleo in the distance as she exchanged her money for a pair of brown, leather boots.

"Jon was Jose. Well, he was posing as his grandson, but he WAS the original Jose. Sure, there is the likelihood of him having a very strong resemblance to his grandfather, but Lai was adamant on the subject, _unmoveable_. He said there was no living grandson, just dead sons, near-dead daughters and Jose; all in that shack, all locked in together for five decades." Hartia finished and looked at Orphen.

"Orphen, I don't have to tell you about the superstition following that particular ritual, do I?"

The muscles in Orphen's jaw tightened as he looked towards Cleo. "So you're telling me that Jon Jose was _reproducing_ with his own kin: killing or, rather, sapping the life from his sons; slowly feeding off his daughters; and using them as broods to produce more fodder to live off of?"

"But it wasn't _Jose_; it was something else, a phantom. I'm pretty sure it was planning on using you as its new host and Cleo as its brood," Hartia spoke reluctantly, seeing Orphen's demeanour turning even more ridged and cold. "This is getting very serious, Orphen. It's fine enough having you on the mission, but a _researcher_ and a _newly graduated_ sorcerer? Azalie held council with the Elders, but to her dismay and outright fury, they only agreed to send one additional, seasoned sorcerer. Me." Hartia's eyes hardened in determination, "At the very least, we can't take _her_."

"I told her, but she won't listen," Orphen said. "It's not like I have the authority to take her off the mission. What did Azalie say?"

Hartia sighed, remembering his conversation with the former dragon. "She doesn't deem it necessary. She believes that regardless of current events, we're being too protective. Said that she needed Cleo to journal the expedition and that she has the utmost confidence in our abilities." He almost spat the last sentence out. "Instead of keeping the Elder's in check, it's like they're moulding her to their image."

Orphen looked to the night sky as fireworks sounded above them, bursting into colours that would make a rainbow envious. Cleo was right, why were they talking about work at a time like this? "Well, if worst comes to worst, we can always ditch them," Orphen said half-heartedly, ignoring Hartia disapproving frown as he walked toward Cleo. She was buying another pair of shoes; this time, black heels.


	6. Astheria

_A/N: I'm really sorry for making you wait! Work is getting so very, very busy, but I have not given up on this story. It's so much fun to write. I hope you enjoy it. Also, it's probably going to be a while until the next chapter, but it will be good so keep in touch!_

**Chapter 6: Astheria**

If Hartia thought that he could use diplomacy to convince Cleo to abandon the mission, he was very, very wrong. After hearing the news, something had hardened inside of her and before long, it had managed to tightly weave itself into her subconscious. The steel that coiled in her muscles, her fingers and her determined, blue eyes wasn't hatred; no, there was nothing left to hate except a few dozen corpses. _It_ was obsession; an unyielding determination to bring justice, but to who or to what, she did not know. And yet she felt it tugging at the edges of her mind like a lost memory. It was like a flame, dancing and swaying with the force of an unidentifiable wind.

She didn't dare tell her companions and so whenever she was probed or pushed to provide reason for her doggedness, she lashed out and soon they learned to avoid the topic altogether.

With 22 days left and more time quickly slipping by, the group decided that the town of Astheria had been their best hope of refining their path. While most of the maps had been decrypted, the journals were written in an ancient runic dialect, almost completely unknown and unstudied by the students at The Tower of Fang. Luckily, there had been one university on the continent that had extensive knowledge on this archaic language. The only Tower that refused to teach aggressive forms of magic and had, instead, focused all its energies on defence, healing and literature: the Tower of Grace. Astheria, like its fabled and _feeble_ Tower, was magnificently beautiful: rolling hills adorned with large, waxy flowers; structures twisting and leaning on one another in a delicate representation of the natural world; and, of course, crisp, beautiful weather that remained warm and pleasing to the skin, regardless of the time of day.

The sun was rising when they caught sight of Astheria and Cleo and Majic couldn't help but gasp in wonderment as it lit up on the horizon. Each fleck of grass, each shingle, roof tile and petal was covered with tiny, translucent droplets of morning dew, making the already beautiful town shimmer like a distant star.

"This is possibly the most beautiful town I have ever seen," Cleo declared as their horse and cart set hoof and wheel on the cobbled pathway of Astheria's entrance. She and Majic were perched at the front of the carriage, while the other two took rest inside; both too tied to appreciate the splendid sight due to the night time shifts they had taken during their short, but tiresome journey. To Orphen's utter disgust, the Tower of Grace refused to let them pass though their teleportation gate and had very begrudgingly permitted them access to a limited store of archived information. Azalie had to fight tooth and nail, insisting that the Tower of Fang had no desire to steal the Tower of Grace's secrets, and that battles fought hundreds of years ago had no affect on their current disposition. The feeling, however, was not mutual, but due to a bit of forgotten paperwork, the Tower of Grace was forced to concede. Apparently, a peace treaty had been signed, leaving the soft and delicate Tower defenceless as its archives were raped and plundered by the brutish disciples of the Fang. Metaphors of sexual abuse were the least of what Azalie had to sift though in order to find evidence of consent in the longwinded letter written by the Grace's Elders. The group was restricted to the lower levels of the library and a curfew had been set, limiting the hours of contact they had with the institution. The Tower of Uptight, Snobby Sorcerers, as Cleo put it, reminded her of the girls she had encountered in her earlier years of schooling at Totokanta. If Orphen thought she was a spoilt brat, he should have seen her school _friends_; it was a term she used reluctantly to refer to the hyper-feminine, pompous tarts she had to put up with day and night at a school that taught nothing but needle work, elocution and how to walk with a book on your head. She shuddered as the memories came flooding back, but was thankfully brought back to reality by Majic's tired voice.

"Cleo, go wake Master and Hartia. We're almost at the inn," Majic was still struggling to wake up even though the reins were handed to him hours ago. Neither of them had been able to get a good night's sleep thanks to the rock infested roads, but somehow Hartia and Orphen had managed to ignore the bumping and bouncing enough to fall into a deep slumber.

"Orphen, Hartia," Cleo whispered in an unusual show of consideration, "wake up, we're here." She rolled her eyes as Orphen began to snore lightly.

"Hey, come on!" she said as she gently shook Orphen by the shoulders.

He groaned and one eyelid cracked open to reveal a bloodshot eyeball. He pushed her away, "Go away, Cleo," he mumbled, still half unconscious.

Her mouth screwed up in displeasure at the rude gesture and she pushed back. "Wake up!" she said with more volume.

Both of his eyes peeled back and his trademark cranky frown was placed stubbornly on his lips. Orphen's arm quickly shot out and grabbed Cleo by the waist, pulling her down as he draped a heavy leg over her form.

"Let go of me!" she screamed waking Hartia with a heart attack.

"Hmmm," Orphen whined stubbornly, burring his head into the side of her neck, drawing her closer.

Using her trademark move, she elbowed him in his stomach and scrambled out of his hold, leaving him gasping for breath. "Geez and you think I have problem. At least I don't go groping people!"

Orphen having fully awakened, due to the lack of air in his lungs, sat up-right and glared at Cleo after taking a few groggy moments to process the situation. "Pffft, that's what you think! You have no idea how many times I had to pry your hands off me. Sleep walking? More like sleep... rapist!" he exclaimed dramatically, attempting to take the heat off himself as a, less than inconspicuous, blush crept up his neck.

Her jaw dropped in astonishment and she was about to hurl the most insulting string of curse words her education had to offer until Hartia spoke. "You know, we can get you two a room at the inn and you can sort this out in bed. The Gods only know how long you've been wantin– "but without another word he was rendered unconscious once more as Cleo's shoe smacked him across the back of his head.

The next few minutes of travel was done in complete silence. Cleo was sitting as far away from the handsy Sorcerer as possible, glaring daggers in his direction; Oprhen was avoiding all eye contact with her; and Hartia lay sprawled between them.

Orphen grumbled softly under his breath, taking the precaution not to rouse the blond vixen from across him. He swore that she was sitting there on purpose to make him feel guilty. And the obvious glaring wasn't helping. And it wasn't like she had to stay there, she _could _go and sit with Majic. Oh, and not to mention that she had ruined his chance of doing the same by half-blocking the small entrance.

Luckily, before the sorcerer's amounting anger could turned to stupidity, Majic pulled back the curtain to announce their arrival and before the cart came to a full stop, Orphen jumped out. Cleo rolled her eyes as he barked out orders to Majic and began to haul the baggage out of the back.

"Oh, don't worry Cleo, it's not like we need help or anything," he said snidely as Hartia began to regain consciousness.

"You," he pointed to the redhead. "Pick up those suitcases and bring them to the inn," he quickly collected a pair of his own and jumped back outside.

"Wow, talk about cranky," Hartia said as he gently prodded the back of his head. Looking at his fingers, he saw no blood, but out the corner of his eye he could see Cleo scowl in his general direction. Before eliciting another fit of rage, he heaved the bags up and followed Orphen through to the entrance hall.

Out of all the inns in Astheria, this had to be one of the ugliest. No doubt it was the doing of the Grace's Elders, who insisted on providing accommodation or, rather, a controlled environment where the demonic disciples of the Fang could be monitored. However, ugly, by Astheria's standards, sat comfortably within the category of quaint, but still Orphen's sour mood made even the most beautiful flower wilt. He glared at the inn's owner and quickly flashed his pass, and without so much as a word's consent, he made his way to their allocated apartments. Cleo, Hartia and Majic followed in tow, but Majic was the only one who took the time to collect the keys and apologize for their abrupt arrival.

Orphen, too impatient to wait, cast a small unlocking spell and threw the bags onto the first bed he saw before he sealed himself tightly behind the bathroom door. He seriously needed some time alone, or he was going to explode. He stripped and turned the faucets to hot; the water poured down and fanned over his body, while the lightly decorated showerhead provided enough force to drown out the whining of a certain blond who thought she had reign over all the bathrooms in creation. His hands came to rest at his head, fingers buried in his thick hair. 'This is probably the first time I've beaten her to a shower,' he mused as a slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but before he could continue that line of thought, he sighed heavily and curled his fingers, showing his frustration and feeling the follicles pull. This was the problem, he was always thinking of her, and he, in all honestly, couldn't stand it any longer. It wasn't just dealing with her snobbish attitude or temper tantrums, but her; just all of her. There had always been some sort of force field around Cleo; whether it was her temperament, her upbringing or his stubbornness, he found himself thinking, at times, even wanting, but never really reaching out. In truth, that night he held her and let her sob into his shirt was probably the most intimate they had ever been... consciously, that is. Silly sleepwalking escapades didn't count; they only added to his amounting frustration. He drew his hair back and his eyes widened as a sudden thought dawned on him. He realised that since Cleo, he hadn't been in a real relationship - with anyone. At all. Sure there were girls on the side, but that was only when she was engaged in periods of intense study, and apart from his sporadic moments of carnal indulgence, he had not made any genuine attempts to court.

"What in hell is wrong with me," he chastised. "All this time, have I just been waiting for her attention like some lost puppy? Fuck. No wonder she doesn't respect me."

His fists clenched tightly as he made a silent promise. He wasn't going to fool himself anymore; acting like a maiden-in-waiting was definitely not his style and he wasn't going to let a spoilt brat get in the way of his sexual endeavours. He roughly turned the faucets off, towelled himself dry and wrapped the damp material around his hips.

As the door unsealed, a plume of steam wafted out. Cleo was about to let Orphen have an ear-full, but as soon as she set eyes on her prey, the words instantly died on her lips, leaving her mouth slack and open. Her jaw quickly closed with a click and she looked away as her cheeks burned. Most girls would have gawked. The sorcerer was dripping wet; droplets rolling off his chest and down his well-muscled abdomen; his towel sat low on his hips and he was starring straight at her. But Cleo, provoked by a sense of self preservation and the knowledge that she had to deal with him on a daily basis, tried her best to keep her thoughts innocent, and that could only be achieve by looking away.

Orphen, fully aware of Cleo's reaction, smirked deviously, delighted that, by complete coincidence, she had been sitting on the bed he threw his bag onto. Without a word, he walked over to her uneasy form, which began to tense even further due to his advancement. She looked up, confusion and surprise showing in her eyes and Orphen's smirk widened slightly to reveal his teeth. He leaned over her form and grasped his bag, but instead of pulling back immediately, he lingered. His breath brushed against her ear as he turned his head and whispered in a soft, deep voice, "What wrong Cleo? Never seen a man before?"

Her face turned the most intense shade of red Orphen had ever seen and he couldn't hold back his grin any longer. She sat there stunned, her face smouldering as he retreated back into the bathroom, and before she could utter a coherent word, he brusquely strode past, dress in clean clothes and left the room.

_Yay for sexual tension!_


	7. Witchy Woman: Part 1

_Hey, I've finally updated! Hope people are still reading :D._

**_Witchy Women: pt 1_**

Seeing her come undone like that; grasping for words, let alone a steady facial expression put Orphen in the best of moods. Cleo was a woman who prided herself on having what she wanted, whenever she wanted, and the mere concept of her struggling with something as simple as sexual tension made him grin like a fool. His perky behaviour did not go unnoticed by the inn owner, who raised an elegant eyebrow at his sudden change of mood.

"Do you have a map for this town?" Orphen asked casually as the remnants of his smile still lingered on his lips.

"Um, one moment," she paused and turned to scrounge in the shelves behind her. She was fairly young for an inn keeper, perhaps mid twenties. As she turned back, her short ponytail flicked over her shoulder, brining Orphen's attention to the collar of her shirt, which revealed a glimmer of linked metal before she consciously pulled it up. Now it was Orphen's turn to raise an eyebrow. He swore he saw a chain, and not just any chain, but a Tower's chain. He lowered his face to her level and his eyes hardened a fraction, but instead of pushing the subject, he grasped the map and took it from her hand.

He knew he wasn't being paranoid; the Grace had every intention of controlling every aspect of their stay and that included spying on them. But instead of being angry, he was genuinely curious. Why was the Tower being so aggressive? If there was still bad blood between The Tower of Fang and The Tower of Grace, it would have only warranted light surveillance, but having a sentinel downstairs who had access to all their rooms seemed drastic, even by his standards.

Rather than pondering the possibilities further, Orphen opened the map, located The Tower of Grace and lightly placed his hand over the parchment. He closed his eyes and passers-by stopped in astonishment. Apparently, it wasn't common to see a sorcerer teleport in the middle of town. Within a fraction of a second, he was greeted by the most ostentatious Tower he had ever laid eyes on. The Tower of Fang was literally a pile of rubble compared the show of grandeur that assaulted his senses. The Tower of Grace sprawled upwards, twisting and turning as large flowers courageously crept up to the very peeks of the enormous structure: blooming in triumph. The tower itself was made entirely of silvery white marble, and the glare that reflected from the morning sun forced his pupils shrink painfully.

"What a bunch of show-offs," Orphen grumbled under his breath as he climbed up the stairs, but then grinned at the thought of apprentices slipping on the white marble when it rained. However, considering how beautiful the weather insisted on being in _Astheria_, rain was probably a rare occurrence.

"I'm Orphen, from The Tower of Fang. I've been instructed to speak with your Headmaster," the sorcerer spoke blankly to the two men who promptly stepped forward to bar his entrance.

His eyebrow twitched as he waited for their response. "Look, I've got a pass, so-," but before he could finish, he was cut off.

"Sorry, but the Headmaster is away on business today, you will need to come back tomorrow," the man on the right obviously wanted a death wish. Orphen calculated how long it would take him to dispose of these weak excuses for sorcerers.

"How can the Headmaster be away when having already arranged to greet representative of The Fang?" Orphen's voice was low and dangerous.

"Uh, I'm sorry sir, but we've been instructed that you and your group were to be greeted tomorrow," this time it was the man on the left. He had short brown hair and a voice that remained him of Majic. "Sorry for the inconvenience, sir" he offered once again, apologetically.

"Listen, kid. Do you have any idea how long I've travelled and what me and my group have had to go through to get permission to visit this pompous Tower?" Even with the good intentions of the lightly spoken sorcerer, Orphen anger only grew.

"Hey! Don't you dare -,"

"Now, now, Rimus. Sir, I truly apologise, but we cannot permit anyone other than Grace's Sorcerers into the Tower without the Headmaster's permission. Until tomorrow, you and your group can content yourself with the stores in our town's library. It has general information based on most of what you might be looking for." He pointed to his right, to a large circular building just adjacent to the Tower.

"Ughhh, fine," Orphen surrendered, not particularly keen to break a centuries old peace treaty. "But tell your Headmaster that if I'm turned away tomorrow, there are going to be some diplomatic ramifications."

It was late afternoon when Orphen found anything of importance in the old library, and he was careful to note down useful author's names in hopes of finding more elaborate information when in the Grace's archives. Most of what he came upon were references to Ariscrit culture, but barely anything more than a few paragraphs and almost nothing on the language, itself. He stretched out his arms and looked around; it had been over 4 hours, and during that time, the library remind almost abandon. To his left was an old man, arranging shelves and there were few students from the local school, plundering a row of books on geological formations. He steadily continued to scan the room, but stopped to hold his gaze on a woman reading a small, red book on the far end of the main atrium. He swallowed hard when she looked up to meet his gaze, her clear blue eyes sparkling in the distance. She had long, brown hair that lightly caressed her face in soft waves and pink lips which curved up to greet him with an inviting smile. His blatant starring did not go unnoticed as the woman lifted her head more fully in acknowledgement, her eyebrow arching in secret amusement. Suddenly, Orphen was compelled to push himself out of his chair; it creaked beneath his weight as he stood. As if caught by hook and reel he was drawn towards her, the palpable knot of lust in his abdomen tightening with each step.

"Hello," he started off lamely, a little surprised that he had not even given a thought to what he was going to say before he approached her.

"Hi, take a seat," she gestured to the chair across from her. "It's nice to see a young man like yourself in here. Sometimes I feel like the only person my age that enjoys the study of cultures," she said casually.

Orphen, now seated and leaning slightly forward, looked at the book in her hand. His eyes immediately widened in surprise. Against the red cover, scrawled across the front of the book were the words '_Ariscrit, a Lost Culture'. _

"Oh, like something you see?" her smile turned into a playful smirk, but before Orphen could reply, she continued to tell him about her interest in old, forgotten cultures and stories. Orphen found himself starting intently as she revealed information about _Ariscritic _rituals and ceremonies. He couldn't help but notice the way the left strap of her yellow dress slowly slipped off her shoulder and how, every time she spoke about something that excited her, she would wiggle her right ankle, unintentionally drawing his gaze up her bare legs.

"Listen, if you want to have a look at this little red book, you're going to have to wait. I'm almost done and I'd probably finish tonight, so unless you're willing to pick it up later this evening, you can come in tomorrow," she said.

Orphen looked at her, slightly confused. "The library closes in a few hours, how can I pick it up this evening?" but as soon as the words left his mouth he realised her proposition.

She wiggled the book in front of his face and her smirk cracked open to reveal a row a pearly white teeth. "I'm currently taking residence in the Garindo apartments, across from the Town Square, room 52."

Orphen grinned widely, surprised and somewhat excited by the prospect. "What makes you think I'm interested in paying you a late night visit?"

She scoffed, raised a sceptical eyebrow and leaned in until her face was only a few inches away from his. "Don't kid yourself," she whispered huskily. "I've seen the way you look at me."

"How do you know I'm not interested in the book?" He countered, as a soft but cocky smile settled on his lips.

She laughed boldly, "If you were interested in the book you wouldn't be look at my breasts or my legs."

Orphen pulled back as his face burnt with a blush and the woman laughed even more. She got up to leave, but before she could exit Orphen called out, "What's your name?"

She whipped her head over her shoulder and said with a triumphant smile, "Serine." And with that, she left.

**_Ha, ha! Bet you didn't expect that! Keep reading!_**


	8. In the inn

_**At the inn**_

"Where have you been?!" exclaimed Cleo as Orphen entered the apartments. Orphen raised an eyebrow as he looked around the room; shopping bags lay sprawled on the ground. No doubt, that this was Cleo's way of dealing with their earlier exchange. It was just a pity that Majic and Hartia got caught up in her mode of therapy. They also lay sprawled, but on their beds, exhausted and possibly traumatized by horrors they were exposed to that day.

"So many dresses, Master... so many shoes," Majic groaned, turning his head to show the fatigue in his eyes.

"Oh, please. That was nothing," Cleo said proudly. "You should see Maribell and I at the Totokanta markets. Completely unstoppable," her eyes shone with twisted pleasure and Majic shuddered at the thought.

She looked at Orphen and spoke once again, but in a more sullen tone, "What were you doing all day?"

If Orphen was correct, which he prided himself on being one-hundred percent of the time, he would say she had missed him. He suddenly felt guilt build inside him, remembering back to his _conversation_ with Serine.

"Uh, nothing much," he scratched the back of his head nervously. If Cleo wasn't here, he would probably be bragging to Majic and Hartia about his recent endeavours, but if he wanted to keep his head, he would not let any of that information fall upon Cleo's ears.

"You were out the entire day and you did 'nothing much'?" she threw him a scrutinizing gaze.

"Well, I went to the Tower of Grace, to get a head start, but they refused admittance. Some bull about the Headmaster not being available. So I went to the library," He said.

"Wow, Orphen, I'm surprised you didn't lose your head," declared Hartia.

Cleo sniggered, "Knowing him, he probably did and got his ass handed to him."

Orphen rolled his eyes, "Oh please, you should have seen these sorcerers. I wouldn't even break a sweat if they tried anything on me."

"Anyway, we've been invited by the woman at reception to have dinner downstairs tonight. Apparently, something about a celebration," Cleo said lazily and as she plonked down on the nearest bed.

Orphen's brow furrowed, remembering the Tower chain the woman had tried to conceal. "About the inn keeper, she's a sorcerer. She belongs to the Tower of Grace." Orphen said, taking a serious tone.

"We know she's a sorcerer, but she's not the inn keeper. She's the daughter of the inn keeper; he's been sick the past week and can't work," replied Cleo, having had a conversation with the woman earlier that day.

"Don't you think it's a little suspicious that the inn we're sent to has a Grace sorcerer taking our orders and keeping a track of what we're doing?" Orphen retorted.

"Seriously, Orpehn, you're being too paranoid. Majic is a sorcerer and he works in an inn! You're going to the dinner and that's the end of it," Cleo said in a no-nonsense tone.

Oprhen grumbled under his breath, but knew any further argument would only result in a headache.

* * *

It was mid evening and dinner was just being served. The smell of roast potato, garden stew, curried lamb and fresh bread wafted from the kitchen and suddenly the scraps of filler in front of them seemed small and unimportant. For the last hour or so Majic, Heartia and Orphen contented themselves on conversation with the other patrons of the inn; the thick, sweet meed even persuaded Orphen's tongue to engage in the jovial exchange.

"Where the hell is Cleo!?" Heartia exclaimed, inebriated and ready for a fourth tankard.

"I have no idea," replied Orphen, and he added with a smirk, "Probably still trying to figure out what dress she should wear."

They sniggered stupidly in agreement and then belted out in laughter when Majic sheepishly suggested that she might have decided to shave her legs.

The man to their left, known as Rowan piped in, "The way you speak about this woman, you would think she was a grizzly monster! No doubt she and my wife would get along!"

The laughter continued along the table, as contagious as it was moronic, and Cleo could not help but roll her eyes as she approached the trio from behind.

Orphen's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the line of men in front of him looked up slack jawed: he turned to see the spectacle. His mouth tightened as his sight landed directly on a pair of breasts clothed in the fitted, but flowing material of a summer green dress; the print of an exotic continent adorning the surface in feather light layers of power blue and lime green. Golden hair sat in loose waves, cascading over her shoulders, framing the flesh that currently engaged his attention.

She put a finger under his chin and lifted his head to meet her intimidating stare, "No, I wasn't prancing around trying to choose a dress **_or_**_,_" and flashed a glare at Majic, "spending all my time trying shaving my legs."

Heartia moved over, as a mock expression of wisdom came across his face; he nodded his head like an idiot and secretly thanked his Luck that Cleo was not present during their earlier conversation... or he would surely be dead.

As Cleo seated herself next to Heartia, she had informed them, in a rather haughty tone, that she had taken the time to write to Azalie.

"Well it's not like you can send it," Orphen said, the drink making him foolish.

"Oh shut-up and give me that," Cleo leaned across her red headed neighbour and snatched the tankard from Orphen's hand. She looked at him sourly and re-seated herself, "I need this more than you." With that said she downed the drink in one go.

As the evening drew late the meed flowed heavily and seemed it would never end. Cleo sat near the end of the table surrounded by a group of men looking to please. By the eager and devoted expressions on their face, it seemed as though they were worshipping at an altar instead of engaging in conversation. Cleo, of course, took full pleasure in being the centre of attention and put on airs of feminine grace to please and manipulate her crowd. By the time each of the men had realised how futile his effort was, Cleo's tankard had been filled freely thrice over and the buzz in the back of her head spread into a satisfyingly numbing sensation that touched her lips and nose.

"Loe," she slurred, addressing an equally intoxicated individual from her now dwindling horde. "Fill me up," she winked and gave him a brilliant smile. The way the man jumped at the chance, one would think he had just been kingted

Wonders would never cease, thought Majic. Just a few hours ago, the subject of Cleo had been up of light ridicule and jest, and only within a short time of her arrival, she had formed what seemed like a cult devout on buying her alcohol.

"Told ya they'd get bored when they realise that she ain't going to put out," Orphen said eloquently as he lifted his drink to his lips and stared at the blond female. Even after drinking what seemed like his body weight in meed, the only thing that indicated Orphen's state of inebriation was a slight slur and the crudeness of his vocabulary.

Majic, slightly better of mind and almost outraged at his former Master's insinuation, was about to speak up, but, of course, was interrupted by a dribble of drunken intonation.

"Whooo says she's not? That man!" Heatria accused with a lethargic finger, pointing to a black haired individual buying yet another drink for the woman in question. "Shheee's been calling on him aaallll night. Laughing, touching his shoulder, with soft caresses and all the aaallcahaal," his words ran together until his face hit the table. For a moment it seemed that he was unconscious, but unfortunately for his companions, it wasn't so. "He haasprettyeyes andgreen!," he mumbled. "Liketherarest of emerals," and then it was lights out. He began to sore heavily.

Orphen looked down in disgust, "He never could handle his alcohol."

"You know you shouldn't speak like that about Cleo," Majic resumed his train of thought. Orphen's jealously was obvious and ever since Cleo's arrival, the night's conversation had been punctuated by his disagreement over her choice of companionship.

Orphen paused midway between a slip and put the drink down. "Listen Majic, she's a grown woman and has full authority to conduct herself in whichever way she pleases, but that doesn't mean I don't get to voice my utter disgust at her courting behaviour." Orphen's lips twisted into a frown, "Honestly, she's acting like a bar whore."

Majic's eyes widened in shock and his lips tightened into a straight line. He stood from his chair and looked down at his former Master, his fists clenched in indignation. "I'm leaving," he said in a low, serious voice. "This is getting stupid."

Orphen waved him off uncaringly and continued to watch as Cleo farewelled the rest of the men. No doubt they had wives in their hometowns and mistresses in others. Cleo's intentions were much too innocent for their tastes and she has wisely played her hand to get want she wanted: free drinks. All but one remained. The black haired man with the' _pretty green eyes'_. Orphen unconsciously glared as the man sat close to Cleo and handed her the drink.

A silent conversation was had between the two; their lips moving and spreading into slow, easy smiles. His hand came to rest on her thigh. Cleo Blushed and looked away shyly, and the man reached out to turn her face with a gentle hand.

The sound of straining leather reached Orphen's ears as he squeezed his hands into a tight fist. He stood, livid and shaking, the desire to reach into the raging sea of magic inside was almost unbearable. But instead of making a scene, he pushed his chair with the back of his leg, letting the scraping of its wooden legs go unchecked, and made for the exit.

Cleo, glancing the back of her companion as he left, excused herself from Loe's amorous and, frankly, unwanted attentions. She practically had to pull her hand from his; she almost laughed at her knack of getting herself into situations like these.

"Hey, where are you going?!" Cleo yelled, standing in the dappled, yellow light of the inn's street entrance.

If Orphen heard her, he gave no indication. His back remained rigged and turned, shrouded in the darkness of night. Then suddenly, bright light enveloped him and he was gone.


End file.
